Paint My Scars With Words And Laughter
by tinyshoopuf
Summary: "What are you gonna do, whip off your shirt at Mrs. Daugherty's garden party next week? 'Would you like to hear about the time I was mauled by a hippogriff'" She said, dropping her voice slightly and mimicking his accent as they tucked themselves in for the night. "An excellent idea, I'm so glad you suggested it."
1. Chapter 1

Ice and cold snaked up the scar splashed across Tina's ribs and she knew snow was imminent while dry heat prickled at the lattice of claw marks on Newt's back as he felt the electricity in the sky. Rain settled into old wounds like a fog, clinging to their senses and marking them in a dull haze of aching. The twinges could be cast aside during the day, but at night they shattered the fragility of sleep, leaving the two of them to trade stories and soothing potions.

Newt liked to joke that between the two of them, they always knew what the weather was doing without having to look outside.

Half-formed flurries hurried past their bedroom window as he applied the cool ointment to the angry mark that adorned her torso. It curved from her belly and up over her ribs where it cut across towards her back, the product of twisting and ducking to avoid a curse, she'd told him. Thin stretch marks lanced outward like tiny lightning strikes and he was inordinately fascinated with the unique grace of it. His fingers were gentle as he worked.

"I think this one is my favorite," he murmured. Tina opened one eye, levering a pointed stare at him which he skillfully ignored. She snorted.

"You would have a favorite scar, wouldn't you?"

"Of course, they're little stories etched into your skin. Interesting conversation starters, if you will."

"For this to be a conversation starter I would have to be shirtless and let me tell you, talking would not be my biggest concern."

"Indeed?" He asked, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at her. She shoved his shoulder playfully, doing her best not to give him the satisfaction of giggling.

"You know what I meant!"

"I don't know what you're on about," he said, snickering as he completed his ministrations. "I stand by what I said, they _would_ make great conversation starters and one day I will prove it."

"What are you gonna do, whip off your shirt at Mrs. Daugherty's garden party next week? 'Would you like to hear about the time I was mauled by a hippogriff?'" She said, dropping her voice slightly and mimicking his accent as they tucked themselves in for the night.

"An excellent idea, I'm so glad you suggested it."

"Newt!" He responded by pretending to snore.

The following week found the couple at the garden party, where Newt had promptly found a prominent healer and asked just that. They were seated in a tucked corner, his collar pulled low over his shoulder as the medic curiously examined the scars and listened to Newt's explanation of the magic used to heal the wounds. He caught his wife's eye and mouthed 'I told you so', leaving her to giggle helplessly into her hands at her husband's audacity.


	2. Chapter 2

"Alright, I'll give you a fifty-fifty chance of guessing the correct answer. Scenario one: a play sword fight with Theseus when I was seven. Scenario two: A stray curse in my Defense Against the Dark Arts class."

It was one of those nights where aching scars kept one or both from sleeping peacefully. This time had been the claw marks that raked down Newt's shoulder that had caused the trouble and after Tina applied the healing ointment they'd devolved into their usual peculiar game of guessing the causes behind the marks that adorned both their bodies. Some nights, like this one, they would offer a few stories and the other would guess which one was the truth. Other nights, they'd pick a scar and come up with their own version of how it had been obtained, with points given for how close it was to the actual events as well as how probable the story was.

Tina was currently ahead in that due to a situation she'd described involving the erumpent that was just so _Newt_ that he was surprised it hadn't already happened.

Now, though, it was her turn to guess and she was studying the scar on his left forearm with great care. Her legs were thrown over his lap and in a small surge of affection, he pecked a few kisses on her knees.

"Newt, that tickles," she said, wrinkling her nose at him as he chuckled.

"Normally, I'd take advantage of that fact, but you have a habit of kicking when I tickle you and my chin is in the perfect position to be brutally kneed, so I think I'll let this chance pass."

"Wise move."

"I try," he said, choosing to lay his cheek across her knees instead so that he could watch her contemplate his arm. "Is this alright?"

She nodded, humming her affirmation as she turned her full attention to the task at hand – or rather, arm. As usual, she began to absentmindedly chew her lower lip as she thought, a trait he found utterly adorable and completely distracting. So distracting, in fact, that he missed her answer.

"So sorry, what?" He asked, blinking rapidly, as he banished his previous train of thought and focused back on the present conversation.

"I said I choose the play sword fight with Theseus. I know curse scars and this is not one," she said, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips.

"Got it in one. We had these old wooden swords we would play with and one time Theseus slashed at me and I, in all my seven-year-old wisdom, raised my arm instead of my sword to protect myself. I do actually have a scar from a stray curse from one of my classes, but I'll let you find that one later." She raised her eyebrows at that, causing a bit of pink to brush across his cheeks. He studied her knees intently, an embarrassed smile across his lips. "We're married, you shouldn't be able to make me blush like that."

Her only answer was to grin, affection and glee mixed in equal parts in her expression, before taking pity on him and pulling him in for a hug.

"My bashful knight," she said fondly as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Actually, I was a dragon."

"Of _course_ you were…"


	3. Chapter 3

Newt watched her carefully apply the glamour until her scarred skin – the skin he was _used_ to – was smooth and unblemished and glowingly prettily next to the blue taffeta of her dress. The back of the garment plunged, revealing soft curves over powerful muscle that was now missing the odd splash of scars that should have dripped from the nape of her neck, across her right shoulder, and down towards her hip. They should have been there and their absence made him frown.

Noting his expression, Tina glanced behind her, patting at the material self-consciously before catching his eye and tilting her head in a wordless question. He made a noise of frustration.

"You look – I mean, you look absolutely stunning of course, but…you don't look _right_ ," he said and winced at his word choice, mentally cursing his inability to think about how things sounded. "No, no, that came out entirely wrong."

She grinned, amused at his flustered state, and strode over to peck the tip of his nose. With her heels on and his propensity for slouching she had to stoop slightly in order to do so, but she was rewarded with the small smile he never could seem to keep from tugging at his lips whenever the gesture was made.

"The world is not ready for my scars," she said, draping her arms over his shoulders and lazily linking her hands. "And maybe I'm not ready to change the world's mind," she added, somehow mixing confidence and insecurity in that unique way she had. For a long moment he did nothing, but after digesting her words, he reached up and pulled her arms down, gently rotating her so that her back was to him and her head was turned to watch him curiously out of the corner of her eye.

With a resigned sigh, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her shoulder, a kiss that was meant for the strange little droplet scars that should have been present.

"It's the world's loss, I guess," he said, bringing his chin up to rest on her shoulder, arms circling her waist in a comfortable hug. She reached up to tickle his nose, giggling when he scrunched up his face and made puffing breaths in a futile attempt to blow her hand away.

"I'll let you appreciate them all you want later, but if we don't get a move on we'll be late for dinner," she said, and with that they resumed the laborious task of dressing for the evening's events.


End file.
